| I saw a hippy girl on 8th avenue
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| She barely looked at me for a second or two
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| And I suddenly realized I no longer looked much like a hippy
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| Mmmmm
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| She had a long thin dress and rainbow clothes
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| Not long ago I wore one of those
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| But now-a-days I guess I don’t dress very much like anything
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| Mmmmm
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| I had a great pair of bellbottoms, I had two
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| My friend borrowed one and the other I outgrew
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| And now to the eye I’m turning into another non-descript guy
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| But I still travel light and my hair is still long
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| I still hate deodorant and I still sing songs
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| But over the years I’ve noticed I’m not dressing as colourfully and psychedelic
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| as I used to
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| 'Cause I wore my tye-dyes until they rotted to shreds
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| And I can no longer follow The Grateful Dead
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| And it’s gotten to the point where I don’t even identify with most Phish fans
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| anymore
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| And someday soon I know I’ll cut my hair
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| And a week after that I know I won’t even care
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| Is that what it comes to all along
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| Everything that you feel will one day feel wrong
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| I was talking to my friend Eric
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| Just to see what he thunk
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| And he said «Jeff, it’s weird
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| But I no longer look like a punk
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| I guess we don’t need our clothes for an identity crutch»
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| And we looked at each other and we didn’t look like much
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| And we looked out at the world like a movie theatre
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| At all the hippies and the punks and the skinheads and the skaters
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| And someday or other maybe sooner or later they’ll come to the realization
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| That what’s important is whether you can carry on a human conversation
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| It’s not what you wear on the outside
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| It’s how you think and feel on the inside |